


The Lock

by Imogen74



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternating, Both POV, F/M, Jon loves Sansa, Post Season Six, Sansa/Jon, War is on the horizon, jonsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imogen74/pseuds/Imogen74
Summary: Companion to "The Key," which I may post, but you don't need to have read that to understand this.Jon and Sansa are preparing for war with the Night's Army, but what about the war they are experiencing within?





	1. Chapter 1

The snow was still falling as the shouts died down.

The room seemed to sting with the noise waste…it was chiming in his ears. 

He looked around, then sat, moved and humbled beyond thought. He had just been declared the King. The King of the North, just as his father was…just as Robb.

Jon Snow looked at Sansa. She held a ghost of a smile on her face. As soon as he attempted to return it, she looked away.

He swallowed, and looked at Lyanna Mormont, who was holding his gaze. She nodded.

…and he looked around the room. “Thank you,” he said. “I haven’t the proper words to fully express how much this means to me. I hope to serve you well,” and he stood once more. “We will face the winter together.”

They all cheered, and there was merriment. 

Likely the last of it in some time.

Jon Snow sighed. He looked around once more, then left the hall. He had no desire to speak to anyone…

“Where are you off to, Your Grace?” 

He turned and saw Little Finger smiling at him. “I’m going to bed.”

“Ah, but now? Now, when the whole of the North is chanting your name?” he shook his head and approached him. “This is unwise, King Snow. You should stay and speak with the houses. They desire your reassurance.”

“I’m not one for words,” he narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care?”

“Because it is in my interest to care.”

“How?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Please.”

Little Finger sighed. “Well, as it happens, I care very much for your family.”  
“You care for yourself,” Jon spat.

“That too, but I care for the Starks. You are a Stark.”

“I’m a bastard.”

“With Stark blood.”

Jon sighed. “I don’t want to hear anything from you, Balish. Stay away from me, stay away from my sister,” and he turned once more.

“I helped you ascend to that position they just named you to. Never forget that.”

Jon didn’t look back, didn’t respond. 

His heart and his mind were troubled, and he required silence. 

Along dark passageways he strode, his mind fixed on one thing, and it wasn't the fact that he was just named King.

Though, he thought, it probably should be.

It wasn't the fact that he had been accosted by Little Finger.

The wretch, he really despised him.

Nor was it the monsters who were lurking beyond the Wall.

It was the fact that Sansa hardly seemed to be pleased with the houses naming him King, and why it was bothering him.

It was the fact that on occasion, over the past few months, he had discovered decidedly un-brotherly impulses toward Sansa. He had been able to ignore them, for the most part. 

It was becoming more difficult.

He reached his rooms and closed the door. 

He sighed. This was not to be borne! How could he have developed an attraction to his own sister! 

Jon rubbed his face and sat on the edge of the bed. He took his furs off and went to the window. He desired repose, but as he had discovered as of late, his sleep was marred by dreams of his sister, doing very unsisterly things to him. 

He avoided sleep, and tried to concentrate on the Wights. 

As a result, he was exhausted most of the time. Irritable. Jumpy.

And Little Finger was there…the man who sold her to Ramsay Bolton. 

Jon looked out into the vast white of Westeros…it was peaceful, and deadly quiet. 

A marked distinction from the screaming raging in his mind…she is your sister. There is no way that this can happen. Stop thinking about it, you’re driving yourself mad.  
And he was. He felt mad. He felt torn in two.

There were many times in his life he had longed to strip himself of his name.

But never quite so much as now.

 

The sun had long disappeared behind the hills surrounding Winterfell, he knew, because he saw it fall. 

Because he couldn't sleep… or he wouldn't sleep because sleep meant Sansa.

He swallowed and stood. Perhaps he ought to walk about. 

Jon left and shoved his hands in the pockets of the pants he still wore. His head was down, and he concentrated on the cold stone beneath his feet. 

“Jon?”

He started, and there was Sansa, a few feet away from him. “Sansa? Are you all right?”

She shrugged and smirked. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“No. Neither could I.”

She hesitated, then said, “Would you like to walk a bit together?”

He swallowed, nodded, and met her. His nerves were wringing his mind, though he reminded himself that he shouldn't be nervous. She was only Sansa, his sister. “That was a successful meeting, wouldn't you say?”

She laughed. “Yes. I’d say so.”

He looked at her, and couldn’t help but smile in return. “What?”

“Well, it’s just that you’re always expecting to be disappointed,” as she fell into step with him.

“Am I?”

“You’re as glum as they come, Jon Snow,” she laughed.

He shrugged, not shedding his smile. “I guess I linger long in the sad bits of life.”

“But it isn't all sad, is it?”

His face fell, and he swallowed. “No. Not all.”

“Good,” though her voice held a choke, and he looked at her as she cleared her throat. 

“Is it? You don't seem sure,” they rounded a bend, and at the end of the hall, a large window stood, offering a vantage point from which to see the many of the hills. There was a soft, eerie moonlight feathering in from the window, and the chill felt quite deep…it seeped in, through the dark air of Winterfell. Jon went to the window and peered out, his breath misting the glass as he did.

“I’m not sure of anything anymore, Jon,” her voice came from behind him.  
“No. I don't imagine that you do.”

“Look at me.”

He turned, and looked at her face…striking features against the deep red of her hair…she was lovely in the moonlight. “I see you.”

“You’re the only one then. I’ve been invisible for so long. Invisible,” she went on. “Or else desperately trying to be something else.”

Jon nodded, and approached her. “You only need to be yourself, Sansa. I know…that is,” his eyes fell. “I know we were never close, and that you don’t think I can protect you. But I promise, I’ll do everything I can to make sure nothing happens to you that you don’t want. Ever.”

“Thank you. I believe that you’ll try,” and she pecked his cheek.

Sansa turned away and left him there. 

And there he stood, for how long, he knew not. 

Because Jon Snow realized something with that tiniest of kisses…he realized that he was no better than the Lannister’s…and that enraged him…

Lannister siblings who fucked each other…claimed to love one another…

His chin went up, and he began taking long strides back to his room.

He needn't claim anything. The fact was burned into the very marrow of his bones.

He was in love with his sister.


	2. Chapter 2

It was best that he avoid her, he thought. Avoid her…

Jon Snow was sitting up in bed, his eyes glazed over, trying to stop the incessant pounding in his brain from lack of sleep. 

It wasn't working.

Jon got up and pulled his clothes on. The sun was up now, though the light was dim.

He sighed and headed downstairs. He walked with purpose, though he had no destination in mind. He grunted at a guardsman, then grimaced at a handmaid. 

Then he stopped himself, thinking that he was being unduly severe on these people…none of them were at fault for his love for his sister.

Jon reached the map room, thought about it again, and decided to get some air. He put his furs on and went to the front gates, pushing them open himself. The hills beyond, holding Winterfell in a soft cradle, were slowly being covered in snow. There was a white glow to the air, and it held moisture from the constant falling snow; before long, the road would be treacherous. It was fortunate that the houses met the night before, for he wasn't certain if there would have been another opportunity to meet. 

He kicked a stone in his path and walked away from the castle. 

There was something wrong with him, he was sure of it. 

Perhaps it was because he was a bastard. 

Jon drew a deep breath. The winter would be long, he could tell. He hadn’t known a long winter…

“My Lord!”

He turned. “What is it?” Tim, Winterfell’s game keeper was heading toward him. 

“A crow! From the citadel!”

He went over and took the small parchment from the bird.Sam.

He unrolled it…

Jon,

There is word from King’s Landing that the Targaryen princess will be landing. No one knows when, though I would imagine that you’ll be hearing soon that she’s there. There will be a changing of the guard, Jon. You need to be prepared and warn whoever sits on the Iron Throne that there is a bigger war ahead.  
Hope you’re well,  
Sam

Jon stuffed the letter into his pocket. Targaryen Princess. 

Just what Westeros needed…another Targaryen. 

He walked to the Weirwood Tree in an attempt to find some solace. It was hovering in its glen, red leaves being peppered with white snow. It was lovely.

“I come here to feel closer to the land.”

Jon turned to see Sansa right behind him. “I don’t come here often,” he admitted. 

“You should,” and she passed him, standing right in front of the tree now, looking up at it. “It’s a peaceful place, and you seldom are in peaceful places,” that remark was laden with meaning, and she did not look at him.

“Perhaps you are right,” he swallowed. “You were always smarter than me, Sansa. I only ever acted on impulse…no reason.”

Now she turned toward him. “What’s happened?”

He smiled softly, for though she had not known him well during their childhood, she knew him well enough now that she sensed something wrong. “Word has come from the citadel. Apparently, a Targaryen princess has set sail for Westeros,” he walked toward the tree. “I wish father was here. Or Robb…”

Sansa’s breath misted with her exhale. “Anything is better than Cersei, Jon.”

“Anything? You’ve heard stories of the mad King,” he looked at her deliberately. 

“I have,” and her gaze fell. 

“Then how can you say that? This princess might be just as mad as her father.”

“Or she might not be,” she looked at him, and her face had set. “From what I’ve seen of the world, Jon, I can tell you that it’s foolish to think that you understand people. No one ever behaves the way you think that they will, and you can’t count on anyone. You’re alone. And a Targaryen princess might just be another princess, but what we have now is pretty awful.”

Jon shook his head and thought about what must have happened to Sansa to create this hardened view of the world. She had only been vague about it all…”Why won’t you tell me, Sansa, what really happened to you?”

He could see the tears welling in her eyes, and she looked at the tree, a derisive smile on her face. “Not here. I don't want to spoil the tree. Let’s go back,” without a sideways glance, she turned and headed back to Winterfell. 

Jon followed her, he didn't fall into step next to her, he just followed along in her wake, Sansa commanding a stride quite different to what he was accustomed to. 

They went into the reception room, smallish and dark, with a raging hearth. Sansa sat and took her furs off. 

Jon did the same.

He looked at her raptly, but her gaze was on the fire, until she finally sat back. “When I was here, when I was a young girl, I thought that I wanted to be a Queen. I wasn’t even certain what that meant, except that a Queen was regal and good. Beautiful,” she smiled, now looking at Jon. “And when father told me that I was to go to King’s Landing as Joffrey’s betrothed, I thought that I was finally living my destiny,” she paused, and looked at her lap. Sansa swallowed and shifted. “He was a monster. He hit me, berated me, humiliated me, and I lived in constant fear of him,” she appeared to be fighting tears. “And when he took our father’s head, he made me look at it, on a spike…and I knew then that I’d die there,” her voice cracked.

“Sansa…”

“Don’t. Let me finish, at least this part,” she took in breath. “I was getting used to the idea of never having my own voice. Of never being able to be who I wanted to be. But that didn’t make it easier. I was resigning myself, and doing that makes for a bad taste,” she held herself as though she was cold, though the air was warm around the fire. “Finally, Margarey came to King’s Landing, and Joffrey was taken with her. I became friends with her, but all the while I was hoping that he’d abandon me for her…and I felt terrible for it. To wish that monster on someone!” she wiped her eyes. “Someone whom I liked…” she looked at the fore once more. “But it happened that he did, and I thought that I was escaping…I could come home…but no. I was to be married to Tyrion Lannister.”

“The imp?” he asked, disbelieving.

“Yes, but he is much more than an imp, Jon. He was the only person, save Margarey and her grandmother, who showed me kindness. We were married, and he treated me with respect and delicacy,” she swallowed. 

“Did he…?”

“No. And I just told you that he treated me with respect. He didn’t love me, Jon, just as I didn’t love him.”

Jon nodded. “I liked him, when he went to the Wall.”

Sansa smiled a touch. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore…maybe we can continue tomorrow,” she rubbed her brow a bit.

“Why are you telling me this now, Sansa?”

She looked a him. “You said that we needed to trust one another. I’m telling you so that you understand me, and can trust me…”

He looked at the fire. “I guess I should tell you my tale of woe, then.”

“Only if you want to.”

“I haven't the intrigue that you have, nor the sorrow. But there is something to it,” he paused. “I guess it all started when we left to look for Uncle Benjen. He had not come back to the Castle, and everyone was concerned. So, I went, for I was eager to prove myself almost as much as I was intent on finding him. I thought I was clever, Sansa,” he looked at her. “But I got myself captured by Wildlings.”

Her mouth set itself into a line as he told her this…

“And I still thought I knew what I was doing. Until I became infatuated with Ygritte…a Wildling in every sense. She was daring and true, and she fell for my act as well as I could have hoped,” his gaze went to the fire now…”And I fell in love with her,” he whispered. “And she and I climbed the Wall…I was getting back to Castle Black, but I was leaving part of myself once I arrived, I knew, for I had given Ygritte a part of me. A part I would never get back. I realized I had changed forever because of her, and that I wasn’t the man I thought I was.”

“Who are you?”

He looked at Sansa…”I don’t know.”

“You know, Jon. You just don’t want to admit it.”

He swallowed. “There’s truth in that. But I can’t understand the world, or where I fit into it. I never did. And now…”

“Now?”

“Now that we are here, and the Walkers are just beyond…I need to be the man I always wanted to be.”

“Maybe you already are. Maybe it isn't so confusing,” she offered, then stood. “I know we were never close, Jon. But we have each other now, and we need to fix on that. We are on the same side, and I haven’t had someone on my side in so long…” Sansa swallowed. “I’ll go see how things are in the kitchens. We have mouths to feed,” and she left him there. 

He didn’t stand. He sat back and thought about what she said. And what he said. Sansa, his sister, had changed so much. Her sorrow had transfixed him, for he saw them now as kindred. And he recognized that as how he had developed his feelings for her. She would understand him as no one would, or could, for her turmoil was their link. 

Perhaps he should just tell her. It would ease his mind, at any rate.

No…he thought…that was selfish in the extreme. She was relying on him now, and to change their relationship just when she was acclimating to her changed self would be disastrous. He would suffer as he always did…alone.

Jon stood. What was he thinking, confessing himself to her? He was a madman. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets and went to the fire. He could use Melisandre now…

“Your Grace?” came a voice.

Jon turned. “Davos.”

“Is everything all right?”

Jon shook himself out of it. “Yes, of course it is. What is it?”

“Well, I heard of the crow from the citadel, and was wondering what the note said.”

He cleared his throat. “It spoke of a Targaryen princess making her way across the sea.”

Davos was taken aback. “Is it true?”

“I don’t know, but I trust Sam.”

“And what will that mean for the Walkers?”

Jon looked at him. “I hope it means that should she overtake Cersei, she will come North with her armies and the other Northern Armies to fight.”

Davos nodded, then turned toward the window. “You will need to go there. You’ll need to present yourself to the Queen, if what you say is true.”

“That’s all? That’s all you have to say on the matter?”

Davos appeared to start to say something, but it caught in his throat. “Everything is changed. The Walkers have done that. Nothing is as it seems, Your Grace. Surely you see that.”

Jon nodded. “I do,” and in more ways than that, he thought. 

“Whether this Queen is a true leader is not known. Stannis wasn’t,” he looked at Jon steadily. “But I believe that you are. And should Westeros fall into disarray, I would look to you to steady her.”

Jon swallowed. “I am no King of the Realm.”

“With respect, Your Highness, you may need to be,” Davos bowed, then left.

And Jon was there, feeling the cold itch his toes, wishing that so much was different.

Wishing that Sansa was there to assuage his doubt…


	3. Chapter 3

There had been times when he thought that what he wanted was acceptance. And he did, that wasn’t a question.

But what he wanted was peace, and he knew that he would be denied that…mostly because he was a ghost.

Apt, then, that he named his direwolf such.

He felt as though he didn’t belong in the world any longer. He felt more than lost, it was an hollow he felt in his core. He was not of the world…

Jon Snow still heard the sound of Davos’s words…you may need to be. He never had any say in anything. He was forever entrenched in a game he didn’t understand, nor aware, even, that he was playing.

Until now.

Anger brimmed in his heart, for he was tired of being a pawn in this game between players he couldn't see. 

He did not need to be anything except Jon Snow, though he was doubtful that he knew who what was anymore. Not that he ever really knew to begin with.

He sighed heavily and looked out of the window. 

It was unfortunate that the snow was so thick at that moment that he couldn’t see much beyond. He turned and eft for the dining hall. He was uncertain what he would do there, but he thought that being there would be better at that moment than being anywhere else. There would likely be many people there whom he could forget his predicament. 

Well, his many predicaments. 

He walked into the hall, and sure enough, many of the men were there, eating the many hours before supper would be served to the Starks.

He nodded at a few, and he grabbed some ale from the table, and sat down. 

There was a quiet that fell then. 

Jon looked around at them all, and took a long draught. “Can’t a man sit at his table and drink?”

“They can, Your Grace,” said a larger soldier. “But they don’t sit with their soldiers, usually.”

“Well this man does,” he looked at them all. “Eat!” he yelled.

There were mutterings and they looked at one another, but they soon ignored the fact that the King of the North was sitting with them. 

Jon nodded to himself and examined the table in front of him. 

He then felt someone touch his shoulder, and he turned.

Sansa.

He smiled at her involuntarily. “Where did you come from?”

“Just there,” she smiled, and pulled her hand away, nodding in the direction of the library. “I thought we could talk.”

His gaze lowered a touch, but he nodded, and stood. “You first,” he held his hand out to her, and she smiled.

Jon followed her to the library, where a fire roared. 

“Sit,” Sansa instructed. “Would you like for me to get something for you to drink?”

“No,” he replied, sitting down. “I just had some ale.”

She nodded, then sat across from him. “I was thinking that I might continue my story,” she paused. “From earlier.”

“All right,” his face etched concern. “I thought that you’d need a longer break…”

“I’d rather just get to over with. If the gods are good, I’ll be done by supper. And you can finish your tale tonight,” Sansa drew a deep breath. “I believe the last I talked about was my betrothal to Tyrion.”

“Yes. I think that’s right.”

She nodded. “Well, there was a ceremony, of course. It was nothing grand, really, but pleasant enough. Tyrion got drunk…”

Jon looked at her concernedly.

“No, he was always drunk,” she laughed at touch. “And when we went to the marriage bed, he wouldn’t have it. He slept on the chair, and continued to take his rest there for the entirety of our relationship. He was a confidant and a friend. I trusted him above all else while I was there,” she paused, and looked at the fire. “We became close, especially after Joffrey and Margarey were engaged. I was fearful for her,” Sansa cleared her throat. “The day of the wedding, there was a great feast. It was there that Joffrey humiliated Tyrion, and then drank poison, killing him dead.”

“You saw it?”

“Not all. I was whisked away to a ship, where Littlefinger waited for me.”

He nodded. “He wanted you to be in his debt.”

“I’m not sure what he wanted then. But he took me to the Eyrie. There, Aunt Lysa, mad with jealousy for me, tormented me in her own way.”

“Why was she jealous?”

“Because she saw what I didn’t. Petyr Baelish desired me the way he desired mother. And he killed her, Jon.”

His jaw fell. 

“I was there. He killed her…and when he took me away, he brought me here, and to Ramsay Bolton, promising that he’d return for me…” she swallowed. “And I believed him. It was the last time I’d ever make that mistake,” Sansa sat back in the chair. “Now, this is the part of the tale that broke me. And I became reborn, never to be Sansa Stark as you had known her again. You know that Ramsay beat me. But he also raped me. Kept me prisoner in my room…he made me watch him rape other women. He had Theon Greyjoy watch him rape me my wedding night. I know it sounds mad to hear that a husband can rape his wife, but I came to understand it such. I never consented…there was no love. I despaired as days bled into weeks and into months. I knew I had to escape…and I did not even care if I should die, for I was dead already.”

“Sansa…” his hand had partially moved toward her in an effort to relieve the pain she was obviously in. He swallowed…”I wish I could have helped you.”

“I’m broken, Jon. But I’m not dead. Escaping spared me that. And I can’t ever be the same. Not ever.”

“No.”

She smiled somewhat weakly at him. 

He tore his eyes from her face. “I know what it’s like to be dead, Sansa.”

“Yes…”

He sat back, clearing his throat. “I went to help the Wildlings, for I knew of the horrors of the North…of the things that they feared and that they only wanted to live. But the Night’s Watch disagreed with my beliefs. They thought that my concerns should be limited to the oath that I made, and that the Wildlings were not my concern,” he looked at her. “But I cared for them, Sansa. Not only had I loved one, I had lived among them, and they had welcomed me. And I had betrayed them. The Watch thought that I betrayed them,” he sighed, and ran his hand through his hair as he put his elbows on his knees. “It was inevitable, I guess…an attempt on my life.”

Sansa’s gaze fell. 

“They all were waiting for me in the Square. It was snowing as it is now…steady, but light. And they took their turn shoving their blades into my belly, proclaiming it was for the Watch…” there was a soft silence that fell after this. Neither seemed to be breathing. The crackling of the fire was the only discernible sound. “I laid there, bleeding, dying…and what I saw was nothing. Darkness slowly took my vision…it was like I was flying in the space between the stars. It was as though I had taken flight from the earth, and I felt no pain, and there was only the cold air blowing past me as I flew to the dark.”

“Dark?” she whispered.

“That’s all I saw, Sansa.”

“Were you aware of it?”

“No. Not in the way that I am aware of you, sitting there. It’s almost like…like I was aware of it after it happened.”

She nodded. “And then?”

“Then I saw my body on that table through Ghost’s eyes…it was as though for a moment, I was Ghost. But not for long…for as soon as everyone left that room, I was jolted into my body.”

She shook her head.

“So you see, when I was reborn, I wasn’t the same…how could I be? I was a ghost. I had lost myself. But it’s like I always knew something like this would happen…” he swallowed. “And we are not that different anymore.”

“No. We both were killed, Jon. And no one who has died can ever be the same.”

And though that statement did not, in an of itself, make much sense, it did to him, and he nodded. 

Sansa smiled at him…a genuine smile…warm. “Now you know me better than anyone. Do you think that you can trust me?”

He smirked a bit. “Perhaps. But I’ll be on my guard.”

“That’s fair,” and she turned toward the fire. “What were you doing in the dining hall?”

“Sitting with the men.”

“You are a funny man, Jon Snow. Not many Kings sit with their men,” she looked at him. “But, you aren’t like many Kings.”

“I hope not.”

At that, a messenger came running in from the hall…”Ser! My Lady! A crow, from Castle Black!”

They both stood, and Jon took the parchment. He read through it quickly. “The Wall is being invaded…every night they hear the screams in the wood of the Night’s Armies.”

“But it’s invaded already?”

“No,” he handed her the paper. “But it will be. They sent scouts out to determine the distance of the armies…only one came back, and said that they were a week out…” Jon got a quill and scribbled a note, handing it to the messenger. “Send this now,” he turned to Sansa. “We can’t wait for the Targaryen…we need to alert the Northern houses that they need to begin preparations now.”

“Yes…but there need not be a war without King’s Landing being settled. Don't you think it’s wise to wait for…”“…how can we wait?” he demanded. “The armies are advancing. They are gaining soldiers with every person that they kill. “You haven’t seen them, Sansa. This is no game.”

“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that it’s all a game.”

“Not this,” and he began to leave.

“I know…” she said, her voice raised. “That you think I’m wrong. But this Night King wants something. Everyone wants something, Jon. And if you find out what it is…”

He turned and walked toward her. “He wants us all dead, in his army,” he glared at her. “There is no time. We need to act.”

Sansa grabbed his arm, and he felt electricity shoot through him. “You are always acting on impulse. You admitted it yourself. Let me reign you in. I can be the one who checks you…”

He was staring at her mouth…and he suddenly did not feel so sure of himself. He nodded. “What do you propose?”

She dropped his arm. “We wait for King’s Landing for a few days. If Cersei remains on the throne, we act. If it is the Targaryen, we visit her with plans.”

“Seems reasonable.”

“It is,” she smirked. “And all I ask is for a little bit of reason,” Sansa turned and after she nodded, left him. 

She wants to reign him in.

Check him…

He swallowed and steadied himself on the back of the chair. 

She had humbled him swiftly…

And he hadn’t minded a bit.


	4. Chapter 4

So, they would wait for King’s Landing.

It was not in his nature to be patient. 

Jon swallowed as he recovered from Sansa’s speech…she was a formidable opponent in matters of discourse, and she understood him better than he had thought. Unsurprising, really, if he thought about it at all. He had grown so close to her recently…

…too close, if he was honest.

He placed a finger on the back of the chair she had sat on and closed his eyes. 

“My Lord.”He turned. “Davos,” he said. “You have developed a knack for finding me off guard.”

“You’ll pardon me, but I just saw the Lady Sansa. She appeared to be in a bit of a state…”

“She was?” and he turned fully toward him. “What do you mean?”

“There was word…from the Wall?”

Jon nodded. 

“What did the report?”

“There are ever encroaching armies from the North.”

“That must have been it, then,” and Davos walked over to the window and peered out. “No one is easy now that this is happening. What are your plans?”

“The plan, as Sansa and I discussed, is to wait for word from King’s Landing.”

Davos appeared to be shocked. “Wait? Until we’re all in the Night’s Army?”

“No. Wait to see what the Targaryen princess can offer as Queen, should she overthrow Cersei.”

There was no response. Davos shook his head, and with a bow, left the room.

Jon sighed. He supposed that as a King, he would encounter many who disagreed with him, and he would need to defend positions that he did not always fully support. This one, for example.

More pressing than anything was the need for warmth. He would have to think about getting some of the forces out to harvest wood for the many northern hearths. 

He left the room to speak to the generals about this, knowing that he was only delaying the confrontation he was sure to have concerning the Night’s Army.

He had managed to avoid Sansa and her beguiling face for the rest of the day, into the night…and now he found himself in the manner he normally found himself in these nights…

Awake.

He got up and roamed the halls as was his custom. He wound his way through the endless halls of Winterfell, the place as dark as the outside, despite the torch light. Gloomy though it was, nothing was as bleak as the prospect of an invasion by the Night Army. 

He sighed and wrapped his arms around himself. The effort was futile.

And he thought about Sansa, and everything she had related to him. It was incredible to him that she had survived so much; she was a far cry from the girl he remembered growing up with. 

And that was it, wasn’t it? 

He rounded a corner and heard someone talking. 

“I ‘eard that ‘e’s gonna wait. Wha’ for? ‘Till we’re all dead?”

He stopped…they were talking about him.

“If Ned Stark was still ‘round, ‘e wouldn’t wait.”

“Naw. We’d already be at dat Wall.”

Jon swallowed. There was something to what they were saying. He turned, not wanting to engage…

Had he let his feelings override his logic?

He smiled to himself. Of course he did. He always did. He allowed his attraction to his sister dictate how he behaved. 

To his sister, for god’s sake.

He threw the door open to his room and slammed it shut. He should leave. He would never be Ned. Never be Rob. No one should follow him, for he was not to be trusted. He was in love with his own sister, and his mind was easily convinced that he was making the wrong decision.

He flopped on the bed and sighed. 

What a mess. 

And it was all his fault.

 

The morning dim was slow to grow. Somehow, he had fallen asleep and the morning’s slow emergence jolted him a touch. He hadn’t realized he had slept. 

Jon rose and rubbed his face. He had not recalled any dream, which was a blessing. He hated when he remembered dreams.

He got up and pulled some day clothes on, then went over to the window, looking out into the grey expanse. 

Perhaps he needed to speak to Sansa more, discuss her position on the interference of the Targaryen princess. Was this really the best answer to the quandary set before them?

He nodded, ignoring his body’s reaction to the thought of seeking Sansa out. Also ignoring the idea that there was more to his desire than policy.

He would be speaking to her with the notion that she needed to fully convince him that waiting was right. That he had been hasty. That she may have some good ideas, but that any advice a King receives should be met with scrutiny. 

He nodded and left his room.

It all made perfect sense in his mind, and he thought that certainly Sansa would agree that as a King, he needed to make decisions with some care. 

He strode down the hall with purpose, ignited with the decision he had made. 

Jon found Sansa’s room with ease (unsurprising, considering how often he dwelt on that door), and knocked three times.

There was no answer, nor was there any movement heard…

…perhaps she was already out and about.

He turned to leave, when he heard the door open slightly. 

“Jon?” came Sansa’s voice. 

He turned, and saw her peering through the crack she had opened in the door. 

He cleared his throat. “Sansa, I wanted to speak…” he stopped. “I’m sorry, were you still sleeping?”

She appeared to be a bit pale, she shook her head…”No…but I wasn’t yet up. I’m not feeling well.”

He went to her. “Shall I fetch a Maester?”  
She smiled weakly. “No…I merely need to rest,” she began to close the door. 

But Jon impeded her action, and placed his hand on it. “I’ll go to the kitchens and get you some broth. Will that help?”

She appeared to want to appease him, so she nodded, then pulled the door closed. 

He went to the kitchen and told the ladies there to spoon out two bowls of whatever they had that was warm.

Jon knew that he shouldn't be worried. And he wasn’t…not really. But if she was ill, it would be difficult to find a Maester, since the road was getting worse, and there was potential upheaval in King's Landing.

The North was always scarce when it came to capable Maesters.

This, he lamented, and was one of the more practical reasons he was angry with Ned Stark.

The bowls arrived, and Jon hurried them to Sansa’s rooms…

The door was open, and Sansa was sitting on the edge of her bed, robe drawn in a tight wrap around her. She looked at Jon as he entered, and smiled. “There is no emergency, Jon. I think I have a cold,” she reached for the bowl and sipped as he pulled a chair and sat across from her. 

“Though I am glad for it, best not to take chances. You should rest the day.”

“What little there is of it,” she observed, looking out of the window.

He chuckled, and sipped as well. “Darkness will be here before we can appreciate the sun today.”

She nodded, sipped some more, then stopped…”Why were you looking for me?”

He swallowed, remembering why he had sought her out. “I…thought we might discuss the plan you had brought up yesterday.”

“What about it?”

“Well…” he suddenly didn’t want to upset her. “It is difficult for me, to…not act immediately.”

Her smile went crooked.

“And I guess I wanted to hear more of your reasoning behind waiting. It all happened very fast.”

“More help is always something we could use, isn’t it?”

“There’ no guarantee that King’s Landing, whoever sits on the Throne, will help us.”

“That’s true. But who’s to say the Targaryen won’t help?”

He sighed. “Is it worth the wait, Sansa?”

“That’s for you to decide,” and she finished the bowl.

And memories of the men talking last night filled his mind. “It’s not in my nature to wait.”

“No. It’s in your nature to brood.”

He smiled at her. “How did you get to know me so well? We hardly spoke as children.”

“It wasn’t difficult to figure out, Jon,” and she returned his smile.

“Am I that obvious?”

She shrugged. “To me, now, I suppose you are.”

He looked at her a moment…her alabaster skin supple and flush with slight fever. He allowed himself this luxury of subtle examination, for he seldom did, and felt emboldened somehow. 

She blanched under his close scrutiny, and her gaze fell. She played with the hem of her blanket. 

Jon cleared his throat. “Was there anything else you needed?”

“Are you leaving?” she looked at him again.

“Well, you need to rest.”

Sansa shook her head. “It’d be lonesome to be here all day without any company…”

And part of him, in that moment, felt that she was being suggestive, even if slightly. He desperately wanted to stay, but he was also hesitant, for he fretted over this attraction almost as much as he agonized over his status as bastard. “I’ll stay. If only a little while.”

Her smile grew wide. “Make yourself comfortable, then.”

He nodded, and his heart leapt at her smile. “What would you like to talk about?”

“What if you read to me for a while?”

His heart then sped…he was no reader. He could read, but it wasn’t something he would do out of choice, ordinarily. His gaze fell, and he looked at the floor. “I…”

“I’m reading…” she began, taking a book from her bedside table. “This. About the wars of the North. There is much in it I think you’ll like…” Sansa handed him the tome, frayed in parts as it was…

…and he took it. “Great Battles and Great Loves of the North,” he read, then looked at her and rolled his eyes. “Great loves, Sansa? What interest does that have for me?”

She laughed. “But this is about me, isn't it?”

He smiled awkwardly and shrugged. “It is.”

“Then read. I left a marker where I stopped last night.”

Jon Snow opened the book…there were drawings on the pages, some were very elaborate, beautiful, even. He touched the page where a picture of a man on a white horse stood atop a hilltop rise, a lady at the base, looking up at him. “This seems to be all right, I guess.”

Sansa laughed. “It’s something I’d look at as a child, and now, as a grown woman, I find it interesting to return to it with older eyes…”

He watched her intently as she said this, and a thought, unbidden, emerged in his imagination…”How will you see the pictures, if I’m here?”

Her smile faded, and her eyes fell.

That was it, he thought. I’ve ruined it. 

But she slid toward the middle of the bed, allowing him room to sit next to her. 

It would be torturous to do it, but at that point, he did not care. Jon got up and sat on the bed, swung his legs up, and opened the book. He sat on top of the blankets, while Sansa was under them.

“Nary a day went by that I did not think of her,” he began, and to his dismay, Sansa laid her head on his shoulder. He cleared his throat, “But I needed to go ever northward, and she would have to wait…”

They went on like this for well over an hour, when Jon noticed her steady breath on his neck. She had fallen asleep.

He put the marker back in the book and closed it softly. His head fell back on the headboard as he laid in quiet agony with his sister in a heavy sleep by his side.

His arousal had stirred with her every movement…her hand was clenching his shirt tightly…and his own breath quickened as he attempted to regain himself. 

Jon closed his eyes. He could feel her breasts moving against him as she slept, and it nearly drove him from his mind. He longed to kiss her, to push her back into her bed and feel her beneath him…

And still more did he stir…his eyes opened and he thought he must leave. He had to get out of there and take care of himself.

Jon began to move his legs from the bed, but Sansa would not yield his arm. He rolled his eyes, and began his attempt at prying her fingers off. 

Sansa muttered in her sleep in protest. 

It would not do. “Sansa,” he whispered. “I need to get up.”

She didn’t answer him, except to hold tighter. 

“Sansa…” and he touched her fingers.

His face was very close to her own…

…and before he knew what was happening, she had raised her mouth to his. 

He froze as their lips touched. 

He was mostly on the bed, holding her hand, his mouth barely on hers, and his arousal screaming…

He couldn’t help himself, he kissed her. 

And he let go of her hand, placing his own at the base of her back, pulling her closer. 

He pressed his erection into her thigh and nearly moaned into her mouth as he opened his, gaining access to her tongue…

And then he stopped.

Sansa had hardly moved, and he felt like a miscreant, taking advantage of her in her state, her own brother…

He pulled away and looked at her face.

She registered no awareness, and smiled at nothing.

…and he got up immediately, fraught and overcome with emotion…

He left the room in haste, as though he had committed the very worst of crimes, and went back to his own quiet chamber to rid himself of her scent on his clothes.


	5. Chapter 5

Her head hurt and she felt achy all over. Her eyes felt odd as they opened slowly…

It was freezing in her rooms and she pulled the blanket closer. 

Sansa looked around her, and then saw the book she had beed reading on the bed by her legs. 

…and she remembered Jon reading to her. And how she had suggested that he lay next to her as he read. 

She blushed. 

Sansa had been in a state of utter confusion since they had settled at Winterfell. 

Her mind was telling her one thing…that she needed to keep a clear head. She had been brutalized and mortified, and she wasn’t going to allow anything like that to ever happen to her again. 

But it felt so good to be home. To feel, even marginally, safe. 

And she did…she felt as though things would finally start to get better, no matter what was beyond the Wall. 

She sniffed and wished that her feet were warmer. 

She hadn’t given much thought to Jon, really. She had been so preoccupied with her own things…it wasn’t until fairly recently that she thought of him as someone who might also need some help. 

Jon was always very dramatic, in her opinion. His tendency to perseverate on his parentage was equal parts annoying and absurd. The only one who cared about his parents was him, as far as Sansa was concerned. Well, at least now, that was so.

She rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling. 

If she was being honest, she would tell herself that the closeness she was experiencing with her half brother was growing in her mind in importance. He had become her confidant and her friend, and with some massaging, they could become fine rulers in the North.

She rather felt that Jon was unconvinced of her abilities as an effective ruler. Maybe she was less than convinced, also, in her preparedness. 

…and if she was being very honest, she recognized the occasional look he would give her. The lingering glance on her neck…

Sansa closed her eyes and shook the image from her thoughts. It would not do to even imagine that he was looking at her in that way. 

She sighed. She must just be recovering from everything that had happened to her. She had thought that watching Ramsay die would be enough. Perhaps she was wrong. 

She should probably get up. She felt stiff from being in bed in a heavy sleep. 

She sat up and shifted so that her feet hit the stone, cold floor. 

And something made her think of Jon…and what had transpired while he was there, she reflected…

Sansa swallowed. She closed her eyes. If she wasn’t lying to herself, she could also recall the blush she felt at his steady stare. 

Well, he had been looking at her, pretty deliberately. That must have been what made her self aware. 

She was tired of being examined. A few years ago she probably wouldn't have minded so much, but that was a couple of years ago. Before she was brutalized by several men. Before she watched her father die…

And she chalked it up to that, then. Jon was eyeing her because she was being looked to to set an example. He was lost when it came to propriety, and he needed guidance. This was rather irritating, but she supposed that it was to be expected. At least somewhat. 

And he had suffered, too. He needed someone as well. She could be that for him.

The floor was so cold that it almost pained her feet to stand. She wrapped her bedclothes tighter, in vain she knew, to stave off the chill. Sansa walked delicately to her table where the water basin was, and dipped her hands into the water, frigid and sick from remaining idle.

At that, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she called out.

“My Lady,” a handmaid arrived with a bow. “His Grace was wondering if you needed anything to make you comfortable. A Maester can be sent for…”

“No,” Sansa smiled, turning toward her. “Can you please just take out some stockings and help me put them on?” She went over to the bed and sat as the maid did as she was told. “Tell me. Was his Grace in good spirits?”

She knelt before the princess and began to roll up the stockings. “Well, as much as can be expected from our King. His is a taciturn personality.”

She smiled again and nodded. “That he is.”

“Are you feeling better, my lady?” the maid stood. 

“I am, thank you. But more rest and perhaps some broth would see me right in the morning.”

“As you wish,” and the maid left.

Sansa felt her toes warm and stood up again. Perhaps she would seek out her brother and talk to him about …things.

She put a long wrap on and left her room to seek him out. 

Winterfell was quite dark, the torches barely offering enough light to make uneasy way through the passages; and though she wasn’t positive where Jon might be, she had a good enough guess. 

She made her way to the library, sparse as it was, since books were difficult to come by. They were mostly housed at the Citadel. 

And there he was, by the fire.

He stood as soon as he saw her, as he appeared to have been taken unawares. “Sansa,” he said, swallowing. “You’re up.”

She entered fully and nodded. “I’m feeling a bit better. A passing malaise.”

Jon did not look to be particularly pleased by this news, but smiled slightly. “Sit,” and he gestured toward the chair opposite him.

She did and smoothed out her clothes. “Jon, I wanted to speak to you about a very particular thing.”

“Hm?”

“Well, we are both alone…we have only one another. I want you to know that you may confide in me about anything which may be bothering you,” she looked at him now, and recognized his blanch. “Are you well?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m…talking about…” her brow furrowed. “Well. I mean to say that if something is weighing on your mind, you can speak with me about it.”

He shifted.

She swallowed. Whatever this was, it must be a important…”Jon?”

“Your Highness!” a messenger came bursting in. “A letter…from the Citadel! King’s Landing has fallen!” he breathed.

Jon stood in a rush and took the tiny parchment. 

Winterfell…please alert the Northern Houses that King’s Landing is no longer in the power of the Lannister House. Queen Daenerys Targaryen has sacked the city and her dragons are tethered to the pits as it begins to rebuild. Snow is on the horizon, and the Dragon Queen is preparing for the winter.   
The coronation will be in one week’s time. All are encouraged to attend, and should make haste for the King’s Road is at this time still relatively clear of impediment. It is not believed that will last long.

Jon looked up at Sansa. “It’s happened. The Targaryen is Queen, and she is being crowned in a week.”

“What does that mean?” she breathed.

“We need to pack,” he replied, leaving Sansa there.

She looked out of the window. 

It was a sickly grey, and there was a mist covering the land.

 

She was hunched on the horse, feeling a headache coming on. They had rode through the night, for King’s Landing was, technically, more than a week’s ride from Winterfell. The company was rather small. Jon had told her that there was little chance of real danger, since the weather had turned, and most were seeking shelter. As long as they stayed relatively clear of the mountains and the deep forests, he was certain that they needed a smaller calvary. 

She trusted him.

Sansa felt sore all over. She had barely recovered from being sick when they were off, riding for nearly thirty six hours. “Jon!” she called.

He turned at her voice…he was riding a bit ahead of her.

“I need to stop for camp!”

He nodded. “In an hour.”

She sighed. Another hour. 

Sansa was not exactly certain why he had insisted that she come, but she wasn’t sorry he did. It made her feel like he was beginning to regard her as an asset to the throne he inhabited. 

It didn’t take too long to set up the camp, since there was not many men. Sansa’s own tent was comfortable enough, and situated by the fire to ensure relative warmth. She had arranged her quarters and looked around. Perhaps she should check on things…

She exited her tent and looked around. 

The fire was high, relatively new, and there was some cooking being done. 

She looked around for Jon, but he was no where…”Excuse me,” she stopped a guard. “Where is His Grace?”“Your brother is in his tent, My Lady,” he nodded.

Sansa smiled and went over to where the guard had indicated Jon’s tent was. She went to open it, and hesitated for a spilt second, then opened it…

…Jon had his back to her. He was standing at the far end of the tent. 

And he was taking his clothes off.

She saw the sinews of his back move gracefully with him, his arms pulling his shirt off…And he then went for his pants…

…and she blushed and turned away, hastily closing the tent and walking away from it…

Sansa ran to her own tent and went inside. She was hot with embarrassment…her hands shaking somewhat. 

She swallowed and went to the bed in the middle of the space. She sat and thought about what had just happened. 

She had seen Jon…no. Her brother…and he was almost naked.

And it had embarrassed her.

Well, of course it had embarrassed her! She wasn’t accustomed to seeing men without clothes on, unless it was Ramsay Bolton. 

And that made her sick. 

She closed her eyes. She should have coughed to announce her presence. That would have made the most sense; would have been the most logical thing to do, instead of panic. Why in the name of the old gods did she panic?

“Sansa?” 

She stood in haste and choked…”Yes?”

“May I come in?”

It was Jon.

“Of course,” she smiled, though he wasn’t there yet, and she had no idea why she was smiling.

He entered the tent. “Are you all right? Someone said that you were looking for me.”

“Oh yes,” Sansa replied sweetly. “I was just wondering about you.”

“Oh,” and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Have you washed?”

“Pardon?” her face fell.

“After the long journey,” he explained, walking to her bed and sitting down. “I just did.”

“Oh yes,” and she sat next to him. “I did,” she cleared her throat. “The journey, so far, has been difficult.”

“Well, just another few days, Sansa. Not much longer.”

“But then there’s the journey back…”

“Are you dreading that already?” he smiled at her.

She shrugged. “I suppose it’s just that I’m recovering from illness and it’s been especially trying,” she looked at him and saw his visage holding a tender look. “What?” she smiled.

“Nothing…I’m sorry you’re unwell and I’m making you travel.”

Her smile fell somewhat. “I’m fine.”

“I know…” his look was steady, and he brushed a piece of hair from her face. “You are stronger than you appear. Too many have underestimated you, Sansa,” and his hand fell, along with his gaze. “Myself among them.”

She was transfixed. “Jon, you know that I am not angry at you…?”

“You should be.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone you’ve ever trusted has betrayed you, used you for their own purposes. I’m only now beginning to realize the scope of what that means.”

“What does it mean?”

He looked at her once more. “It means…I need to earn your trust,” he paused. “And I mean to.”


	6. Chapter 6

The King’s Road had been arduous, yes, and her back hurt. She was reticent about returning to this place which harbored so many bad memories. 

…and the valley into the Keep came into view. 

Sansa swallowed. She looked at her brother. He was just behind her, looking down into the city. He had never been here. 

“It’s nice, in its own way,” she said, looking back.

“It means pain to you,” he replied. 

“It did.”

She nudged her horse forward and they galloped down toward the Keep. It was noticeably colder from the last time she had been there. Sansa swallowed…Cersei was dead. Joffrey…dead. The only Lannister’s left were Jaimie and Tyrion. And they had never hurt her. 

She dismounted and held her chin up. She wouldn’t allow anything to stop her now. 

Not even a Targaryen princess. 

She waited for the company to join her as she fiddled with her gloves. She saw Jon glance over as he spoke with some of the men, then he walked to the gate. Sansa hung back, deliberately blending in as best she could. 

She watched as the troops and aides walked into the Keep…Winterfell didn’t have servants and such by the dozens as the Keep did. And Jon didn’t want to bring everyone…the risk was too great that they’d be hurt. 

She was shown to a room and Sansa sat down at a desk. The crowning ceremony was to be the next day. She unpacked some things and sighed. 

It was going to be a long few days in the Red Keep.

 

Sansa didn't see Jon again until the next day, as they had arrived late and she took her supper in her room.

She wanted to look resplendent yet ferocious, and as she smoothed out her skirts, she decided that she looked neither. Her clothes were dark, and she wore a fur around her neck. Her red hair cascaded down her back.

And she thought that Daenerys would want to be the most beautiful in the room, no matter what people had said to her about her own beauty.

Her beauty…

She closed her eyes. Sansa’s beauty had been a blessing and a curse. There was much that she liked about her face, but she knew that it would fade, and would rather be cunning.

She aimed to be.

Sansa lifted her chin and opened her door.

How many hours did she spend walking the passageways of the Keep? How many did she spend in quiet horror? 

All of that was behind her now. She wouldn't be ill used any longer. She would be strong and brave…smart about her choices…

“Sansa.”

She looked up. “Jon,” she smiled, a bit breathless. “Are you lost?”

“No. Just biding time.”

She nodded. “Well, I believe the ceremony will be starting soon,” she folded her hands across her waist.

He shrugged. “That’s what I understand.”

“Should we make our way, then?”

“Not yet. Might you give me a tour?” he smiled at her. “And I’d like to discuss the issues we are bringing to the Queen.”

“With me?”

“Of course with you, Sansa. That’s why we’re here. Why you insisted upon coming.”

She felt foolish for a moment, and her face flushed. “I can give you a tour,” and she began to walk to the gardens. They were lovely at the Keep, and though the chill had begun its fall, she didn’t think it would all be spoilt. 

She was right, though some blooms had perished, and part of the wall containing the garden had fallen. Probably from the battle. “I was happiest here,” she touched a violet flower. 

“Here?”

Sansa turned and nodded. “Well, while I was held captive, I was happiest in the garden. Tyrion would walk with me occasionally.”

“He was kind to you.”

She nodded. “Yes he was. I could speak frankly to him when I couldn't with anyone else.”

“Sansa?”

“Hm?”

“Were you in love with him?”

“With Tyrion?” she said, confused.

“Yes.”

“No…I’ve never been, Jon. Because I was too young.”

He turned away from her, and sat on a stone bench. “I think that we need to be as frank as possible with the Queen, so that she understands the urgency.”

“That’s wise,” she sat next to him.

“We need the reinforcements of the south. We need to make her understand that the entire seven kingdoms are at risk,” his voice became elevated.

“We will,” she laid her hand on his. “Jon, look at me.”

He turned toward her, brow furrowed. “It will be all right.”

“What will, Sansa? We likely all will die,” and he took his hand back, folded them, and leaned forward, staring at the ground.

“Well, we can only do what we can do…” she longed to comfort him somehow, and so she took her hand, and with some hesitation, placed it on his back. She began to rub circles. “And we will do what we think is best.”

“War,” he looked up, but not at her.

“If it comes to it.”

“Are you prepared for that?”

“Battle?” she took her hand away, and he sat back, looking at her.

“Aye. And not the kind of battle Ramsay Bolton waged. I mean a battle with weapons you’ve never dreamed of.”

She swallowed, and wavered under his gaze. “I…” was she? “I am.”

“I won't allow it.”

“What?”

“You’ll not fight, Sansa.”

“I’ve proven myself…”

“You need to be the Queen if I die. You need to keep the Stark name alive. I’m dispensable…you’re not.”

And she stood. “How dare you tell me what to do. My entire life. People telling me what to do. And you! You’re the King of the North! Do you understand what that means? Do you know what you mean to the North? What you mean to me?” she stopped…she closed her eyes. She hadn’t quite realized what Jon meant to her…

…he meant family. And safety. And…

“Sansa.”

She opened her eyes, and he was standing in front of her. “What,” she looked down.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. But father would never have allowed it…”

“Father’s dead,” she spat. “I know. I was there,” and she turned and walked away. 

 

Sansa walked into the Hall where there were candles lit and many faces she found familiar. She was still shaking somewhat…

Jon was infuriating! How could he, after everything that she had related to him. She would not let him continue to tell her how to live her life. 

“…I heard that the Stark children are here…”

Sansa heard some people sitting ahead of her speaking about her and Jon. She strained her ears. 

“I wonder what they want. Why they made the trip down.”

“The bastard, Jon Snow…he’s likely here to make an offer of marriage.”

“To Daenerys?” she sounded shocked. 

“Well, if you think about it, they’re both royalty now. He was recently named King of the North.”  
“A bastard King?”

“It’s what they’ve got. Savages, true enough. But I understand he wields a mighty sword…” and there was some laughter.

…and Sansa blushed. 

Was it true? 

It couldn’t possibly be. He would have told her that he meant to marry the Targaryen princess. She swallowed and blanched a bit. 

He was the King, though…he made the decisions. She was just…

Who was she?

She looked up and saw Tyrion. His neck was bandaged and he was standing next to Varys. Sansa didn't know Varys well…but he was always lurking about. Her gaze fell…

And she wished that she could speak with Tyrion now about these matters.

“Is this seat taken?”

She looked up and saw Jon, and she eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then nodded and allowed him to sit next to her. 

“Are you still cross?” he whispered.

“I wasn't cross to begin with,” but she didn't look at him. 

“You’re still cross,” he muttered. 

“I’m not.”

She heard him sigh. “Well, this looks painfully dull.”

“You don't need to stay.”

She felt him stiffen. “We need to talk.”

“We need,” and now she turned toward him. “To watch the Queen make her vows and be crowned.”

“Sansa…I only want to keep you safe.”

“I understand,” and she offered him a ghost of a smile. “But the Queen is coming,” and the entire hall stood as Daenerys entered. Sansa stood now and looked at her…

…and by the gods she was lovely. Sansa swallowed as she watched…

Daenerys was in a lovely blue gown, thick and velvet, with gold trimmings…

She looked at her own clothes. She thought of her own face…

…and she looked at Jon, standing next to her watching the ceremony begin as they all sat down. 

Were they a good match? Impossible to tell, since she had never met the Queen…

Sansa shifted in her seat as the ceremony went on. The people of King’s Landing expected that that was why they were here.  
Well, why Jon was here. 

Sansa looked up as Daenerys Targaryen was crowned. 

If nothing else, it made sense. The Kingdom would be united. That was a desirable thing, she thought. Desirable and necessary in these uncertain times. 

…and it was over. 

She watched as Queen Daenerys stood with her crown atop her head. She nodded to everyone and then walked out.  
“Well. I think there’s a meal or something,” John said.

“Yes…” she replied, then looked at him. “We should go,” Sansa turned and walked out of the hall, following the crowd. 

She took a spot in a corner with some wine. She watched as Daenerys spoke with people, watched as some of the dignitaries spoke with Jon. She noticed that he was uncomfortable…

…and she dropped her gaze. 

He would need practice. 

“These people,” he said, taking his place next to her. “Are impossible.”

“How do you mean?” she sipped, not looking at him.

“They care about the most ridiculous things.”

“Oh?” and now she looked. “What things?”

“What I’m wearing,” he shook his head.

Sansa laughed. “Not really.”

He looked at her and laughed, too. “Still cross?”

Her smile faded. “I was never cross.”

“Sansa…” he admonished.

“I wasn’t…I was just…” she sighed. “Frustrated with you.”

“I suppose I can be…”

“Impossible? Difficult? Dramatic?” she offered.

He chuckled. “That’s a long list.”

“It covers about half.”

He looked away, the smile still on his face. “Do you think she’ll listen to us?”

“She’ll have to. I put in a request to see her in private.”

“As did I, before we left.”

“Oh…” and she swallowed. “Well then…”

“Some are leaving,” he observed, looking around.

“I’ll be back,” she said.

Sansa turned without looking at Jon and walked out of the room. 

He had contacted Daenerys before they left. Perhaps he wanted a private counsel with her. She felt her heart beat faster. 

Sansa walked to an open window in the hall and breathed deeply. Why was this bothering her so? If Jon wanted to marry her, he had every right to. 

Perhaps she was upset at the thought of him leaving her at Winterfell. Perhaps she didn’t want to be alone anymore…

Yes. That was it. Even thinking of it in passing made her uneasy. 

Alone…she had felt thus for so very long. She was tired of it. There were precious few whom she felt she could trust, and now, the thought of the one whom she could leaving her…well. It was no wonder. 

Sansa nodded to herself. If Jon wanted to marry her, well…she would support it. It would hurt, but she would survive, just as she had survived everything. Somehow.

“Sansa?” 

And she turned.

Jon was standing there, looking at her. “The Queen is ready for us.”

Sansa took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m ready.”


End file.
